Craig did not reply immediately. Echo had slipped away in the confusion! Well, so much the better. Her presence could not have helped. It was no more to his interest than to hers—since she was to be his wife—that the story of her midnight call should be bruited abroad. "I—don't know—her," he said.
"I'll tell them so," said the secretary. "The safe had been opened, but its contents are practically intact. I have checked up all the papers on the list and there seems to be only one thing missing. Perhaps you took that out yourself. It is the last item on the list—a package of letters."
A quick gleam crossed the white face on the pillow. "Gone? No—no. Impossible. They were—of no—value to—any one but me."
"You may have put them in your desk," said the other. He turned to the surgeon. "The police want to bring up the man for identification."
The man of medicines frowned. "I suppose it has to be," he said. "Tell them to do so quickly. Only a word," he warned the wounded man.
A moment or two later the secretary tapped again at the door and it opened upon the two policemen. Harry walked between, the chain on his wrists clinking lightly as he stepped. One of them came forward to the foot of the great bed.
"You saw the man who shot you, Mr. Craig?"
"Yes."
He beckoned and Harry and his guardian moved forward into range of vision.
"You solemnly swear that what you shall say is the truth?"